hii! i wasn’t sure if you still took requests for kaiju no 8, but if you did i wanted to request ren ichikawa x reader one shot! where the reader gets injured after battling against a kaiju and she’s heavily hurt? something along the lines haha, thank you!! love your work
stay awake : reno ichikawa
synopsis. after a mission goes horribly wrong, reno is forced to confront just how close he came to losing you.
tws. female reader, injuries
note. of course i do!! it’s just been a while since i last wrote for it, so thanks for the req! this isn’t too angsty cuz..i couldnt handle it 🥲
the battlefield was still smoking when reno found you.
despite the kaiju threat successfully neutralized, its massive body collapsing in a heap of charred flesh and broken concrete, reno didn’t care about the victory. his eyes were locked on the collapsed section of the building where he’d last seen you fighting—and then suddenly gone after a brutal swipe sent you crashing through debris.
he sprinted through the rubble, ignoring kafka’s concerned yelling, heart pounding louder than the emergency sirens. when he finally spotted you half-buried under broken concrete, blood staining your combat suit, something in him shattered.
“[Y/N]!”
the male dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering, afraid to touch in case he made it worse. your breathing was shallow, eyes barely open, but they focused on him when he spoke.
“…reno?” you ask, surprised but clearly in pain. “took you…long enough.”
“don’t talk,” he responded sharply. the way his voice cracked wasn’t subtle. without wasting movement, reno cautiously brushed debris off your shoulder, his calm composure was completely gone. “medics are coming. just stay awake, okay? you hear me? don’t close your eyes.”
you tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “hurts…a lot.”
“i know,” he whispered, gently taking your hand and squeezing it tight. his fingers trembled. “i know it hurts. but you have to stay with me. we still have to finish that stupid training match you promised me.”
“reno…i’m tired…”
every second that passed seemed to make things worse. your eyelids began to flutter, your grip on his hand weakening.
“no.” reno leaned closer, urgent now. worse, his eyes burned with forming tears that threatened to spill over. “you’re not allowed to be tired. not yet. remember what you told me before the mission? that we’d get street food after this and you’d finally beat me at that stupid arcade game? you still owe me that. so don’t you dare fall asleep on me now.”
a faint laugh escaped you. “such a dork…worrying about arcade games…at a time like this.”
“yeah, well, someone has to keep you motivated,” he muttered, brushing hair out of your face shakily. “you’re always the one dragging me out of my head. now it’s my turn. stay awake. please.”
the medics finally arrived, shouting orders as they carefully lifted the rubble off you. reno didn’t let go of your hand the entire time, even when they tried to make him step back.
“i’m not leaving her,” he said firmly. “she stays with me.”
in the ambulance, he sat beside your stretcher, still holding your hand. your eyes were half-lidded, consciousness fading in and out.
“hey,” he whispered. “you remember that time we stayed up all night talking about stuff? you said you wanted to see the ocean with me one day. we’re doing that. so you better not leave me hanging.”
“promise…?”
“promise. i’m not good at this without you.”
the hospital lights were too bright when you woke up hours later. reno was slumped in the chair beside your bed, still in his combat gear, head resting on the edge of the mattress. your hands were still intertwined. when you stirred, his head shot up immediately, eyes wide with relief.
“you’re awake,” he breathed, voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your hand. “don’t ever scare me like that again. i thought…i thought i was going to lose you.”
“can’t get rid of me that easily.” you tease lightly while giving his hand a little squeeze.
reno let out a shaky laugh. “good. because i’m not letting you go. ever.”
he stayed by your side the entire recovery; bringing you food and talking to you when the pain got bad. during moments where you needed silence, he’d simply hold your hand without pressure, too.
when you were finally discharged, reno helped you walk, arm gently around your waist for support with faint rosy cheeks.
“next time, we fight together. no heroics. got it?”
“got it.” you reply with a smile, leaning into him.
in the end, the kaiju hadn’t taken you from him. and reno was determined to make sure nothing ever would.
Kn8 Headcanons: As they breathe their last on the battlefield, the characters' thoughts are of their loved one.
Contents: Angst, romance, character death
Characters: Kafka Hibino, Gen Narumi, Soshiro Hoshina [x Reader].
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
It's Sunday morning, and I hardly ever write angst, because it makes me cry, imagining my faves in these situations, but here we are.
KAFKA
In his last moments, he forgoes his brightest smile for one that reflects what he truly feels: sweetness, tempered with anguish.
The pressures of his role as a kaiju combatant have always rendered him disposable, in his view. He had been a weapon, but he'd been a weapon who'd loved, lost and fought alongside the best of humanity.
He's more than satisfied, that he could show the world that he wasn't a danger to it, that he could protect and serve as he'd always dreamed of doing.
Yet, the undeniable hollow inside, one that mimics the gaping wound on his chest with cruel irony, brings your face to the fore.
He would drag himself the last few paces, across a street, towards a window lit from within (like the time he'd first laid eyes on you) maybe even across the whole city if his body had allowed, just to look upon you, one last time.
All his life, he'd felt the need to encourage, to uplift, to lead with a smile that leant reassurance, and you'd been the one to show him exactly how it felt to receive that warmth in return.
Your hand in his, facing down what the future could bring, standing beside him, while he realised his dreams of fighting beside those he cared for.
He could fight anything, with your unshakeable faith holding him firm.
He could fight until his body surrendered to damage, until his limbs dragged like dead weight, until the flattened arena of his struggle circled his still form like a pack of wild dogs.
How thankful he is, that your last memories of him won't be of this, the shell of a monster hybrid, flesh cooling on a ruined battlefield, the man within already a distant memory.
GEN
He indulges himself in all matters, but not in those of the heart.
Gen's life had been an ever-shifting challenge to prove himself, to gain greater strength, to overwhelm with force, leaving a meteor trail of his own scorching brilliance across the heavens.
So why is it that now, at the culmination of so many years of strategising, triumph, glory and honour, he only thinks of you.
You, with your smile meant only for him, with the face that shouldn't stand out in a crowd, with eyes that unshackle him from the very armour that protects his heart so well, are all that he thinks about, all that he sees in his mind's eye.
It should annoy him, but there's no time for that, not when his blood flows so freely from a body that once obliterated kaiju with a single blow.
No time for denial, no time for regret, nor for the million things he could have said to you before he left.
There is only enough time to filter years of your presence beside him through a lens he'd never picked up, held, cherished, as he should have.
Gen had always been direct, blunt, no easy escape offered.
Love is not a word he's ever associated easily with himself, but he knows in some bone-deep, fundamental fashion, that you are the love of his life, and for what time remains of that life, he will think only of you.
It would have been nice to return, to raise his fingers in his customary gesture of victory, cocky and brash, basking in your wry praise, the secret delight in your eyes.
How is it that you seem so near, when he knows with certainty that you are so far away, where he was certain you'd be safe?
Perhaps (as the last strength of a collosus reaches blind fingers across shattered pavement) that was your voice he could hear, warmer, sweeter, closer than ever.
SOSHIRO
Oh, he'd dreamt of many things, and some have been attainable in ways he'd never imagined.
He'd been a child of duty, before he became a man of the same leaning.
A soldier's heart, always open to compassion, wary of softer sentiments that might hamper him in conducting those very duties.
Where had it all flown, he wondered, when you'd offered him a warm greeting, a kind word, a smile that had set his heart racing?
Soshiro took joy from many small things, from sweet coffee on a cold morning, to the weight and heft of a bokken in his sweaty grip, to the wind on his face as he skidding down the slanting surface of a ruined high-rise.
Then, the sun through your fingers on a spring morning, the sound of your voice over running water from the bath, the warmth of your hands on his tense shoulders, the pillow of your lap beneath the spread of his hair.
If he had been born to a different fate, maybe he'd have spent more time with you, wandering along riverbanks on balmy afternoons, lingering in the night markets you loved to frequent, paging through his unread books while you did the same beside him, shoulder pressed to his.
He loves you more fiercely than any other living being, with an intensity that he'd once thought might frighten you.
He doesn't think that any longer.
Soshiro dies beside his defeated opponent, with his hand on his blade, wearing a warrior's smile, composed and almost as cheerful as it is bloody.
He dies the way his ancestors have, in the battle against kaiju that spans the ages, each carrying that single, bright flame of enduring love that burns long beyond living memory.
established fwb, female reader, mild possessiveness, mild exhibitionism, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, creampies, handjob, 6.6k words
rye shared this fanart, ji made me feel bad about gen constantly getting dethroned in my writing by dudes with bowl cuts, and idk. i lost my goddamn mind and this happened
"Fuck me," you mumble, and Narumi Gen snorts.
"Keep it in your pants," he says smugly, ruffling his bangs back in that way he knows you like. "You've got me all day, as soon as we're done with this."
"I hate you," you say simply, and Gen laughs. Your lips twitch, but you bite it back, opting to blink up at him instead, leaning into his space. "Are you sure you wanna lead this demonstration with a boner, Narumi taichou?"
Gen huffs, torn between annoyance and wanting to preen. He loves hearing his title from your lips, but it's only a reminder that you're in public, and that he really shouldn't be thinking of all the other times he's corrected you, the way your voice cracks around his name when you're gushing all over his cock.
You take another step closer into his bubble, ignoring propriety, and Gen finds his breath caught in his throat. The hallway is empty, for now, the platoon waiting just beyond the doors. There's nobody to see the way your chest presses against his arm, and you're — so incredibly soft —
"Will you let me wear your jacket, later? With nothing underneath?" you ask quietly, your tone light and casual. "It'll look good on me, don't you think?"
"Fuck me."
You smirk, and Gen shouldn't be turned on by such a simple image, but he can't help it — you're a menace.
He takes a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to will his boner away. It's hard — pun intended — because all he can think about is the way your chest moves with his thrusts, the way you clench around him, so hot and wet and soft, the way you gasp when he hits that spot inside just right — only now he sees all of this and you're wearing the track jacket that's currently on his own body.
And something about that — his jacket on your body — does something diabolical to his brain, appeals to his baser instincts. He can't claim you in any way that matters, because you're just friends. He can leave as many hickeys and bruises and memories as he wants, but nothing he does will change the fact that he'll never be your emergency contact.
Not that he wants to be, anyway. After all, he's the one who set it up like this.
Right. It's better this way. He's got a Division to lead.
The only reason he's wearing a track jacket in the first place, and not his Defense Force uniform, is because this is supposed to be a short demonstration. It's his day off, and the two of you are heading into town to peruse the new stock of Gundom figures. There's also a seasonal parfait you've been wanting to try, and a special edition volume of some sword manga you've been reading lately that you want to pick up.
It's all stuff you've done a million times together before, but now Gen finds himself wondering if he can get you naked in some empty training room first.
Or maybe just a little bit undressed — cameras are everywhere on base, after all, and he doesn't really want anyone else seeing the way you arch so beautifully when he grinds the tip of his cock inside you. You're conveniently wearing a sundress today, anticipating the cloudless, breezy spring day, so it'll be easy for Gen to tug your panties aside and sink into you and —
Right. This is not helping his boner.
You pause at the door leading to the training grounds, grinning as your gaze slides down to rest on his crotch area. Gen's wearing track pants, and the comfy fabric is doing nothing to hide his bulge.
"Fuck off," he scowls, and you laugh out loud.
The demonstration goes well, as long as he ignores the way you keep glancing over from the sidelines and looking away like he's too hot to handle. Gen finds himself twirling his gun bayonet a bit more than strictly necessary, propping it along his shoulders and letting his jacket and loose t-shirt underneath ride up to expose the sliver of skin above his waistband.
It's a bit unorthodox to do a demonstration in civilian clothes, but Gen wonders if he can get away with it more often, if it'll get you this worked up to see him handling his weapon in a track jacket. Gen knows he's hot, easily the Defense Force's most eligible bachelor, but for some reason you're really going through it, today.
In fact, you only last three hallways before dragging him into an empty room after the demonstration is done.
"What's the big deal, anyway?" Gen huffs, the back of his head hitting the door behind him with a quiet thunk as he tilts to give you access to his neck.
You hum, lips soft along his skin, teeth nipping little bruises as your free hand sneaks beneath his waistband. Gen groans, loud in the empty office, bright morning light from the windows hot on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his cock and squeeze.
"Aren't you always saying you're a big deal?" you ask, shoving his pants and briefs down enough to free his cock. Gen curses as you smear his pre around the tip, as you stroke him with the exact pressure and rhythm to make him blow his load in two seconds flat.
Gen doesn't wanna cum yet, though — "I am," he says, hand shooting out to grab your wrist. His other hand gives your chest another squeeze, another harsh rub at the peaked bud beneath his palm, the front of your sundress shoved low enough for your tits to spill out.
You jolt into his palm, biting at your lip as a whine slips out. The sound makes Gen go lightheaded, flickering in his vision as he grabs your chin to tilt your face up, to kiss you hard.
"N-Narumi taichou," you gasp, breathless. Eyes widening as he spins you both around, as he props you up against the door, fingers denting the plush of your thighs as he holds you up and grinds his length against the heat of your core.
"C'mon," he mutters, nosing at your throat. "You can take me now, can't you? Your panties are fucking soaked."
You make a funny sound but reach down to tug your panties aside, nudging at his cock so that he's lined up with your entrance. "Get inside me, please, Narumi taichou —"
The little gasp you let out when he starts to sink in does something to him, whites out everything in his brain until all he can think about is how hot and wet and perfect you feel. Gen kisses you, tries to swallow down your moans as he bullies his way inside, a little too big to fit without prep, except you're wet enough and so fucking good for him and —
Gen is gonna cum. He —
"Shh," he murmurs, kissing the pout off your lips as he bottoms out. "We've gotta be quiet."
"Fuck off," you shoot back, and Gen laughs.
"We're still gonna go out, right?" he asks, wincing as you dig your nails into his shoulders. "We'll walk around looking at Gundom figures, and my cum will be leaking down your thighs..."
"Narumi taichou, will you please move," you whine, clenching around him pathetically. Gen can feel your pussy fluttering around him, squeezing and working at his cock as he tries not to blow so soon.
"Fuck, you're so good for me," Gen grunts, finally lifting you only to slam you back down on his cock. You grab at his shoulders, his hair, tugging on the strands as he begins to fuck you properly, the hard thrusts heavy in his gut as you swallow him greedily with each move.
"Oh, please, please, ngh, Gen —"
Gen almost laughs when you fall apart around him, your muscles tensing and coiling and unwinding as he fucks you through it, as he kisses and swallows the pretty sounds tumbling from your lips. His name — over and over again, like a prayer, the only thing on your mind as you come undone.
It's enough — not that he ever needs much, with you — to kick him over the edge, too, and he moans your name, loud and shameless into your cheek as he cums and throbs and hot streaks of white flood your insides.
Fuck.
"Fuck," you say, several moments later, blinking up at him with stars in your eyes. "Gen."
"Yeah," he says, and tilts his head to kiss you.
Long, deep kisses, breathless and easy, your lips the most familiar feeling against his own. You keep your ankles locked around his back, trapping him inside you, but he doesn't mind, merely kissing his way down, pausing at your fluttering pulse, nipping at the soft skin above your heart.
"My panties are ruined," you confess quietly, giggling when Gen snorts with his lips resting on your bare shoulder.
"You still wanna wear my track jacket?"
"Yes," you say immediately, and Gen laughs. Your lips tilt upwards, something unbearably warm and fond in your expression that has him leaning down to kiss it away.
"I'll get changed, and we can head out?" you suggest. Gen hums, kisses you again, basking in the warmth and scent and familiarity of you. "Taichou," you giggle, tugging at his hair. "Come on."
Gen sets you down and kneels between your shaky legs as he crouches, carefully removing your damp panties and chuckling when you grab his shoulders for balance. Once your panties are free from your legs, he uses the messy cotton to wipe himself clean, smirking when you squirm on your feet.
"Fuck off," you mutter, but you crack a smile when Gen snorts and tucks your ruined panties into his pocket. "Meet me at the front entrance?"
"Huh? I was just gonna come with you," he says, putting the rest of his clothes back into place. You do the same, keeping your legs pressed together, and Gen silently mourns the loss of your bare tits as you slide the straps of your sundress back up over your shoulders.
"If you come with me, we're never going to leave the base," you roll your eyes, "and we haven't had a matching day off in ages. I'll see you in a few minutes!"
Gen frowns, but you lean up to give him a kiss, and he watches you slip out the door with a funny feeling in his chest. He makes a stop at his own room before heading out, cleaning himself up a bit more and setting your panties aside for jacking off with them later.
If he's lucky, you'll stay the night, but he can always use them another time. Maybe tomorrow morning, with his fist wrapped in the fabric and his cock as he eats you out until you cry.
You show up at the front entrance wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and thin socks that go all the way up to your thighs. Gen stares as you skip to a stop in front of him, his hand reaching automatically towards that enticing, bare strip of skin between your socks and shorts.
"Hands off," you say playfully, grabbing his wrist to tug at the sleeve of his jacket. "I've changed my mind, I'll steal your jacket later. You can wear it for now, taichou."
Gen rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the honor," he says, and it comes out more fond than sarcastic. "You planned that, earlier? You were never gonna walk around out here in that skimpy ass dress."
"Of course I wasn't," you say, and your fingers slip into his, easy and familiar. You squeeze his hand as the two of you begin to walk towards the train station. "I'm a proper, respectable platoon leader. Honestly, I was just going to show up at your room wearing it, but you were running so late for the demonstration, and now I've got girls left and right asking where I bought it."
"What for?"
You glance sidelong at him. "I dunno, so they can try seducing the great Captain of the First Division on their next day off?"
Gen makes a face, rolling out his shoulders uncomfortably. "Not happening."
"Oh? It's not like we're a secret, but you are hot and single, and I know there are gold diggers in the Force." You say it so easily. "We've got a lot of really good people who fight kaiju to protect the country, but not everyone has motives like that."
"You think I'm hot?"
"Shut the fuck up," you snort. Gen cracks a grin, tucking it into the high collar of his track jacket. "Anyway, if anyone manages to interest Narumi Junior, just let me know."
"You won't let me hit it raw if there's anyone else," Gen points out.
"Yeah, that's why you have to let me know," you nod, "so we can have our final fuck and you can move on."
Something about this entire conversation is rubbing him the wrong way, but it doesn't make any sense. Gen's the one who insisted that the Defense Force comes first — it's the only thing he's good at, after all — so why should he care if you're acting like what you have together doesn't matter?
It doesn't. It shouldn't.
"Not happening," he says again, gruff. "C'mon, we're gonna miss our train."
It's not crowded, this time of day, but the two of you opt to stand near the doors, too used to being battle ready at all times to relax on the seats. Gen ends up with his fingers draped carelessly in the hanging holding strap while you stand in front of him, holding onto the front of his jacket lightly as the train skims along into the city.
"Did you see the new promotional posters for the game you're always playing?" you ask, gaze seemingly caught by an advertisement before you flick back to his eyes. A small smile tugs at your lips. "It looks kind of cool."
"You're still banned."
You laugh, ducking your head into his chest for a quick moment, so you don't disturb the other riders. Gen wonders if train cars always run this warm. "Damn, I thought you'd forget about that by now."
"Hah? You thought I'd forget?" Gen demands incredulously, pitching his voice lower when you snort. "You were so bad, my ranking fell by three tiers! It took me an entire weekend to climb back up again!"
You're laughing quietly now, body shaking, and Gen finds himself putting a hand at your waist to keep you steady as the train rolls to a stop. Passengers embark and disembark around you, but he keeps his body between you and the stream of people, ignoring the funny glances about the public display of affection in order to keep you safe.
"Thanks," you say, beaming up at him.
Gen feels his ears get hot. "Whatever."
The figure shop you first discovered together is crowded with customers all trying to get a look at what's new, so Gen holds your hand, to make sure you don't get separated. You stick close, both of you stopping at the same displays and exchanging grins when you realize, pausing to admire this or that new design and chatting easily about potential modifications.
Gen ends up buying a new kit, and you walk out with a set of paints to use on an old model. He adds your bag to his own and then slings it over his shoulder, holding out his free hand and tilting his head when you take it. "Let's go."
The cafe is next, a few streets down, and you walk together companionably, talking about the new displays in the windows and recent missions and how hungry you are, since Gen made you exercise earlier.
Gen snorts. "I was doing all the work."
"Your track jacket was doing the real work," you say seriously, grinning when he scowls. "I don't think you can be allowed to wear it anymore. It's too dangerous."
"You're such a weirdo," he says, but there's no bite. "C'mon, let's eat."
You sit across from each other at the little table and Gen blinks as your shirt shifts, exposing the thin pink band of your bra strap. It tugs at his memory, but it isn't until you've ordered the seasonal parfait to share, plus some drinks, that he remembers —
Fine, delicate lace, the pattern mesmerizing and interspersed with tiny sparkling gems, barely exposing the soft skin beneath. Pink ribbons laced around your torso, the hard buds of your nipples straining against the fabric, the garter belt tight around your waist with ribbons carefully attached to panties that were suggestions, at best. The cute little bow at the dip of your back, just above your insanely cute ass. The matching bow, right above your bush.
"Narumi?"
Gen blinks, suddenly refocusing and flushing at how hard he had been staring at the neckline of your shirt.
Are you seriously wearing that right now?
You'll definitely be pissed if he drags you into the bathroom without letting you try the parfait, but holy fucking shit.
"You finally noticed, huh?" you ask, and Gen feels a little lightheaded as you grin. All of your regular bras are serviceable, practical — the pink one's the only fancy piece you've got, in a color that matches his eyes. "It's parfait time!"
"Fuck you," he says. You laugh, and Gen shakes his head slightly, but he can't help grinning a little, too. "Can I just get your manga online for you?"
The waiter sets your parfait down between you, and you ignore Gen for a moment as you snap a photo or two of the seasonal dessert. "It's just one more stop," you say reasonably, handing him a long silver spoon. "I'm sure the great Captain of the First Division has enough self control for that."
"You're lucky I do," Gen grumbles, scooping a bit of the parfait and shoving it into his mouth. "Or we'd be in the bathroom right now."
You shiver, eyes locking with his own for a brief moment before your gaze goes back to the dessert. You work carefully to get the perfect scoop, balancing ice cream, fruit, and whipped cream on your tiny spoon. "It'll be so much better on your bed, Narumi taichou."
His futon, set up among the messy chaos of his office, has definitely featured in many of your escapades — but so has your office, and several training rooms, and even a supply closet, one time, when he'd been hiding from Hasegawa. His Vice Captain lets him get away with a lot, but Gen's still the Captain, and kaiju wait for no one — so the two of you improvised.
In the beginning of your relationship, during the awkward stages of navigating seeing each other naked for the first time and trying to act normal the next day in public — there were a lot of quickies. It was easiest, really, to just get down and dirty, to give in to the heady sexual tension once it finally had an avenue to follow.
Now, though — now everything's stabilized out, and you actually stay the entire night in his futon with him, and you still hang out with him the way you used to, just like today.
The biggest difference between your friendship before and now is just that you've got the audacity to wear the sexiest set of underwear he's ever seen beneath your normal clothes while you sit across from him eating whipped cream like nothing's changed.
Your tongue pokes out to chase some of the cream by your lips, and Gen sighs. He subtly tries to adjust his pants, but you notice and smirk.
"All good, there, taichou?"
"Shut up."
Gen watches you eat, taking a few bites here and there, wondering how it's possible that just that morning he'd been balls deep inside you, filling you to the brim. And he'll have you again, later, laid out on his futon like a dream come true, wearing nothing but —
"Why'd you put that on, anyway? I thought you wanted my jacket."
You shift a little in your seat, clearly debating on how to answer, but Gen just waits. He takes a sip of his drink, feels the fuzzy bubbles wash down his throat, lets the chatter of the other cafe patrons slip around your little bubble as he watches you take another bite.
"Well," you say slowly, "I told the girls who asked about my dress where I got it."
Gen raises an eyebrow.
"And I was thinking, it's kind of surprising how many girls asked," you say.
Gen's eyebrows furrow. "Hah?"
"I mean, I know you're hot and high ranking, but I was just... surprised that so many girls thought they had a chance," you shrug. "I guess I thought they wouldn't be so open about it? But we're friends, so I guess it makes sense."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"They think we sleep together because we're friends," you try to explain, halting and frowning, "Like... I was just convenient. And if you realized that you could snag one of them, you'd take the chance."
Gen snorts. "No chance. I chose you because you're you."
You blink. "Well, I put this on because I figured I should try my best to be worth it for you."
"That's stupid," he says firmly. "You don't need to prove anything to me."
"But you only care about results, Gen," and this makes him frown, the way your voice goes soft, "so I need to be the best."
"I already chose you," Gen points out. "It's not like I wanna hang out with anyone else."
"Hang out with...?" you repeat.
He shrugs. "Yeah? Isn't that what we've been doing this whole time?"
"Do you consider having your dick down my throat a typical normal hangout?" you ask curiously, sliding over a napkin when Gen chokes on his drink. "Is this how you hang out with all your friends? With your cum leaking down their thighs? We never used to do this stuff before you proposed that we fuck as friends, so what gives?"
"No," Gen says. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm just trying to figure something out," you say, and you straighten in your seat. "So when you say you don't want to hang out with anyone else, do you mean going out to mobile figure shops and cafes, or fucking, or both?"
"All of it?" Gen says, "I only wanna do all that stuff with you."
"Huh," you say. You take another big bite of parfait. "Okay, then."
"What?"
You shrug. "Nothing. I'm done. Can I have your jacket, now?"
Gen stares, but you don't give any hint about what you're thinking, so he takes off his jacket and hands it over, watching as you disappear to the bathroom with your bag. He pays the bill while he waits, foot tapping impatiently as he scrolls through his feeds really quick, the posts flying past without being processed.
You take his hand when you come back, wearing his track jacket zipped all the way up, the sleeves a bit too long and bunched around your wrists. Your bag looks a little fuller, but nothing seems amiss, so he lets you lead him out and towards the bookstore by the train station.
"The white t-shirt and track pants is also a good look on you," you remark idly. "Really, it's so unfair that you're so hot."
"Hottest guy on the Force," Gen says proudly, just to hear you laugh. "If we did a popularity poll, I'd win first place, easy."
"I don't know," you hum thoughtfully, ignoring his outraged hah? to add, "I think people might be really into bowl cuts and microbangs, lately."
No way. "Says who? They must have terrible taste," Gen says, "or they just haven't seen my promotional posters. There was a huge uptick in recruits once those went out!"
"I thought those were because of Captain Ashiro," you say, and Gen's jaw drops. "She's really hot, too, you know."
"They were not because of her," he protests immediately, scowling. "We should send out a survey asking the newbies why they joined."
"It's alright," you reassure him, stepping into the bookstore with a smile, "even if you don't rank highest as the one bringing in all the recruits, you're still hottest to me."
Gen wants to frown, but if you think he's hot, then... well, that's good. Great, really, because it means he can rest his hand along your back as you peruse the shelves, and you'll just take it as his mild possessiveness coming in to play. You've never mentioned it, but you aren't dumb, and there's no way you've missed how often he leaves marks and hickeys and loves to have you leaking with his cum.
His hand sweeps up your back as you bend to look at a display, and something in his gut jerks when he doesn't encounter any resistance.
Fuck.
You straighten and reach for a book, his track jacket on your shoulders shifting and bunching with the movement, the bottom hem of it rising just enough past the waistband of your shorts, exposing bare skin, and —
Yeah. Okay. He's gonna take you to a hotel after this. There's no way he'll make it back to the base.
Not with you walking around the city with no bra or shirt on beneath his track jacket.
"Are you trying to get us arrested?" Gen hisses, once you've reached an empty aisle together.
You blink at him. "No?"
Fuck. The glimmering mirth hiding beneath your innocent expression makes him want to laugh, but he's trying so hard to will his boner down that he can't even manage a snort.
"Oh, here it is!" you say, distracted from his internal struggles. You grab a wrapped manga volume and hold it up to your chest triumphantly, and Gen wants to die because he can see the peaks of your nipples stiff against his track jacket, small nubs that could be explained away as the fabric bunching except that now he knows you aren't wearing anything underneath it.
"I hate you," he grumbles halfheartedly, and you laugh, the sound tugging his lips to curl upwards in response.
"Let me pay, and we can head back to the base," you say cheerfully, like you aren't a walking menace with a mild exhibitionism streak.
Gen shouldn't be surprised, really. He's felt the way you clench around him when he's fucking you in an office, where anyone could knock on the doors or walk in. He knows the rush gets to you, knows you trust him enough to make sure nobody ever actually catches you.
"There's a hotel," he says, but you tug at his hand and drag him towards the station.
"I wanna sleep in your futon tonight," you say, grinning sheepishly, "and I know you've got your ranking reset, so it's better if you have your BS5. You can play while I ride you."
Gen's heart does some stupid clenching stuttering thing and he follows you to the train. He's given up on getting his boner under control.
"You're a pervert," he mutters under his breath, crowding you into the corner as the train car fills. You splay your fingers wide on his torso, feeling him up under the pretense of holding him for support. His abs tense as you trail your fingers down.
"Thanks for coming out with me today," you say sweetly, gripping the hem of his shirt for balance as the train sways. Gen blinks down at you, gaze searching yours for a trick, but finally he rolls his eyes.
"Duh," he says. "Glad you understand the honor I've bestowed on you today, by hanging out with you —"
"Yeah," you giggle, "I know I'm super lucky."
Gen pauses his automatic monologue, biting at the inside of his cheek. It's not fair that you can be so cute, so understanding and funny and good at being around him, being with him. He frowns and ends up staring out the window as the train whisks through the city, if only to keep from kissing you in public.
You let go of his hand once you get back to the base, and Gen flexes his fingers, feeling the empty space keenly. And even though he knows — he knows you're naked beneath his track jacket — somehow, once you're both in his room, he sets your bags down in an empty bit of floor, follows you to his futon on socked feet and climbs over you slowly.
"Gen?"
You only call him that behind closed doors, and usually in the middle of falling apart. You reach up, combing his bangs back, fingers sinking into his hair. Your thumb brushes along his cheek and he leans into your palm, heart aching. "You're so fucking cute," he mutters, giving in.
You taste like the parfait, lightly sweet. Your skin is cold where he reaches down to skim along that slip of skin between shorts and socks, and you shiver into him, your free hand clutching at his shirt, drawing him closer. Gen kisses you and kisses you, lips moving languidly against your own, tongue and teeth and spit slicked heat stoking fire in his lungs.
Gen grunts when you tug him closer, yanking him off balance enough to rest fully in the cradle of your hips, the hot, hard length of him pressing thick against your warmth. The seam of your shorts doesn't seem to matter to you, and you whine, ankles crossing behind his back to keep him there.
"Fuck," he bites out. You lean up to kiss his throat, lashes fluttering against his skin.
"Gen," you whisper, and he huffs a quiet laugh into your hair, reaches to slip his hand beneath the jacket you're borrowing.
"You're perfect for me, y'know?" he mumbles, calloused hand scraping along your scarred skin. Nobody escapes fighting kaiju without a few scars.
"I'm really, really wet, Gen," you confess, laughing when he groans. His fingers find your nipples, pinches the hard peaks just to feel you arch into him. The soft give of your tits in his palm makes him shudder, the fabric of his briefs getting sticky with his arousal.
Gen finally unzips the track jacket, splaying the fabric out around your body. Your bare skin greets him, your chest rising and falling as you try to rock your hips into him, chasing friction he won't give. "Fuck me."
"I'd love to," you pout, and Gen presses his grin into your neck.
"Pants off," he demands, and you unlock your ankles immediately, your own hands flying to your shorts to get them unbuttoned as Gen helps. He follows them down as he drags them off your legs, nipping at the plush skin just above your thigh high socks. He pulls your panties off, too, just for good measure, pausing to press a kiss to the little bow above your curls before taking them off and tossing them away.
You whimper when he settles himself between your thighs, forcing your legs apart with his shoulders.
"Gen," your voice comes out wobbly, thick with embarrassment. "You don't need to, to uh, ah —"
He ignores you, because he can't help himself. The curls above your center are soaked, glistening with your own arousal, and he kisses his way up your inner thighs, licks a stripe up your core.
"Gen —" and your heel meets his back, your body's reaction instinctual as he groans and buries his face in your pussy.
You're twitching and gasping and squirming, torn between running and chasing, so Gen clamps his arms around your thighs and pins you in place, sucks your clit between his lips and listens to your pleas.
He doesn't give in to them, though — there's no way in hell he's gonna stop now, not when you're dripping down his chin and soaking the collar of his shirt. His own hunger is quiet, lethal, a riptide beneath the surface, a gaping maw that takes and takes and takes.
Maybe it's helped, that he's had you once already this morning. Maybe that's why he works you carefully, edging you closer and closer to orgasm, winding you up tighter until your thighs are threatening to clamp around his head, your fingers tugging at his hair in desperation.
"Gen, please," you gasp, "please please please I need you, inside, please."
He doesn't want to cum yet. He slips two fingers into your pussy, but he doesn't stretch you out. He wants you to take everything he'll give you, first, because you're the only one who can take it.
Gen makes you squirt, two fingers pressing hard at your inner walls, holding you steady as your back arches clean off the futon.
"Thank you," he groans, helpless, lightheaded, so hard it hurts. "Fuck, thank you, that was perfect, you're perfect, thank fuck."
You tug him up weakly, panting, breathless, and he shoves his pants down and sinks into you with a groan.
It's a stretch — but you're soaked, absolutely filthy with spit and arousal, so his pre just adds to the mess as he works you open on his cock.
And he could fuck you with the frantic energy floating in his peripherals, the fast and heavy slam of his dick into your waiting, welcoming pussy, but — you clench around him, gaze hazy, your hands insistent on his biceps and forearms as he hovers above you.
"You feel so good," you moan, and Gen leans down to kiss you.
He keeps kissing you when he starts to move, swallows down your gasps as he fucks you into the futon. His track jacket is still wide open around your body, so he can see your tits bounce with every thrust, the hickeys blooming on your skin. "You're gorgeous."
Gen rocks into you hard, making you feel every thick inch of his cock along your insides, the stretch as you ache to accommodate him. You feel —
He can't even —
You clench around him, trying to keep up with his steady pace and failing, falling apart again and again on his dick. Your voice cracks on his name, pleasure shooting through you like an arrow, nearly sending him over the edge as you lock up around him.
Gen keeps going, though, chasing something unknowable, his world narrowing down to you surrounding him, wet and hot and clenching tight as if you don't want him to leave.
"Gen, fuck, you ngh feel — you feel so good, Gen, oh please I can't Gen I can't I can't please no —"
Your back tries to bow off the futon with the force of this orgasm, but Gen grunts and sucks in a sharp breath, holding still as his balls tighten dangerously. He's close, really fucking close, and he doesn't even know why he's holding back except that he's almost got it.
You blink tears out of your eyes as you reach for him, panting wildly. The kiss is more breath than touch, more broken off whines than actual words, and he's so lightheaded with arousal and fondness and something sharp and aching in his chest that he barely registers when you drag him close, until he's crushing you into the futon.
"Gen," you kiss him, the wet, messy sounds of you echoing in the room. "Ah — I like you, Gen, I like you so much, I'm — I'm —"
And everything snaps.
It's like his brain stem's been zapped, every single bit of tension in his body released, pumping you full as you squeeze him dry, his cock throbbing endlessly. Distantly he moves his lips against yours, familiarity turning into instinct, kissing you silly.
Holy shit.
"Mine, mine, good and perfect and mine," Gen mumbles, slowly returning to his senses. "Fuck."
"Fuck me," you laugh, and it comes out rough.
"Already? I know I'm good, but you're gonna have to give me a minute."
"Shut up," you squish his cheeks together, smoothing your thumbs along the tired circles beneath his eyes. "I can't believe you didn't even take off your shirt."
Gen smirks. He can't help it, though it comes out a little softer than usual. He can't help that, either. "If you wanted to check me out, all you have to do is ask."
"I want to check you out," you deadpan, and Gen rolls his eyes, but he lifts himself up, yanking off his shirt and tossing it aside. You reach for his torso almost instinctively, hands smoothing up his abs to rest on his chest, careful of the scar tissue everywhere.
"All yours," Gen says smugly.
You smile happily, tugging him down again and letting out a little oof when he obliges and presses his face to your hair. "Same. All yours, Gen."
"What'd you do with your bra and shirt?"
"They're in my bag," you say. You comb your fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands as he turns his head so that he can rest his lips at your temple. "Though you did throw my panties somewhere..."
"I'll find it for you later," Gen mumbles. Now that he's finally released the tension accumulated from the day, his limbs feel heavy. It's nice, being skin to skin like this, feeling your heart pound against his own, a call and response. "Maybe after another round."
"Another — Gen? I'll die. I swear I'll die."
"You're one of my best platoon leaders. You've got better stamina than that."
"That doesn't mean I'll survive another round!" You protest, but you're giggling, ankles locked behind his back, keeping him pinned to you. "This lingerie set was expensive, okay, so I really don't want to lose it."
"My track jacket was kinda expensive, you know."
"Shut up," you snort. "I'll buy you six more just like it, so you can live in track pants for the entire week."
"I dunno," Gen shrugs, his kitty cat smirk on full display, "I'll be shooting blanks if this is the response I'm gonna get every time."
"You like it," you say.
"It's only right," he says, grinning into your hair, "that you put yourself on Narumi Gen duty, if you're gonna go around jumping me for dressing in civvies."
You gasp, and it's theatrical. "Are you promoting me? What's my new ranking?"
Gen leans up just enough to face you, to kiss you softly, lazily. "Top ranking, obviously," he mumbles, "and mine."
You kiss him back. "Yeah? That's silly. I've always been yours."
And maybe that should scare him, or worry him, since — the Defense Force comes first. It has to, because it's the only thing he's good at. So claiming you... shouldn't be happening.
But it's so easy with you. Showering and sneaking into an empty mess hall to grab food, stumbling back into his room and making out on his futon until you get desperate enough to ride him — it's all easy. Comfortable and almost unbearably good.
"I've changed my mind," you say, fingers drawing aimless patterns along his bare back as he taps away at his controller. On screen, flickering against the darkness of his room, Gen blows up a few zombies. "One track jacket is enough of an issue for me. I can't buy you any more."
"Excuse me, I think you mean the great Narumi Gen is the irresistible one," he grumbles, "and not the stupid jacket."
"You're definitely up there," you concede, hands smoothing along his back muscles. It feels good, soothing. He could fall asleep like this. "But let's be real, the track jacket is the MVP."
Thanks to @madameflamey for the suggestion of Kafka with body worship, thank you for playing with me 💜 I got a bit more sappy than intended... sorry about that!
kafka hibino x female reader (suggestive)
He didn’t deserve you.
He didn’t deserve this—any of it.
Kafka wasn’t sure why fate had played him this hand in life, and every morning when he woke up, he spent the first ten minutes making sure everything he had experienced wasn’t some elaborate dream. What a wonderful dream it would have been, even despite the hardships, because nothing good came without some level of sacrifice.
But it wasn’t a dream.
Your soft snores were real, the drool he felt on his chest was real, and the warmth in his heart when he glanced down to find you still fast asleep, naked and clinging to him like you might fall out the bed otherwise, was very real.
He chuckled and let his mind wander, reliving the events of last night with a boyish grin plastered to his face.
Gods, you were so damn sexy and finding you waiting for him in nothing but his favourite team’s hockey jersey and a smile had been the highlight of his week, if not his entire month. It was no wonder he had dropped his training bag unceremoniously and practically leapt onto the bed.
What had followed was one of the best nights of his life, and he wasn’t entirely certain you understood the impact of your actions. Kafka had never felt so seen and loved than he had lying flat on his back beneath you. The way you touched him as if he was your whole world, every stroke of your nimble fingers and how your gaze roamed with nothing but acceptance.
You touched every scar, lingered to leave little kisses next to the newer ones and whispered sweet nothings which penetrated all the way down to the kaiju inside. It was more than lovemaking; it was devotion and a promise all rolled into one experience.
He never hid the parts of himself which he didn’t like because when he was with you those insecurities melted away into insignificance. The softness of his stomach, which had once bothered him when comparing himself to the other cadets, didn’t matter when you nuzzled your cheek against it like a contented cat. The hairy expanse of his chest wasn’t a bother when you threaded your fingers through it with a salacious purr. His concerns about stamina melted away when he was able to take you for a record third time in one night, proud as a peacock when you tapped out due to our own exhaustion.
None of it mattered when you loved him.
It was conflicting to lie here both hard as a board with his cock nestled against your thigh and with tears desperately trying to pool in his eyes. Kafka wasn’t sad, he was overwhelmed, and you seemed to sense it even in slumber.
“...s’matter?” you slurred, raising your head and blinking through sleepy eyes.
Kafka sniffed and wiped away a rouge tear with the back of his head before squeezing you tightly to him. He smiled into your knotted tangle of hair, kissing your head for a long moment until all he could smell was your shampoo and your scent.
“Nothing, baby, nothing. I was just thinking about how lucky I am... go back to sleep.”
You could feel someone burning a hole into the back of your head.
You put down your rifle and looked up at the top of the building behind you. There he was, staring intently at you—Narumi Gen, Captain of the First Division and the strongest officer in JAKDF.
Your mind drifted back to last night.
You were on your way back to your quarters when Vice Captain Hasegawa stopped you.
"Platoon Leader L/N, I need your help."
Judging by the troubled look on his face, you had a feeling it had something to do with Narumi.
"Sure. What is it?"
"HQ has been nagging us about the reports, but Narumi still refuses to do them. He's been sulking."
Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What does that have to do with me?"
"You see..." Hasegawa hesitated. "Narumi actually likes you, and he got jealous because you had lunch with Platoon Leader Tachibana."
Oh.
So that was why he'd been acting sour toward you ever since lunch. Looking back, you had noticed that he asked you to spar with him more often than anyone else. He also complimented your skills from time to time, which was incredibly rare coming from him.
You snapped back to reality when a shot hit the ground beside you.
Narumi was glaring at you from above, a silent warning to stay focused—or maybe he was still upset.
Once training ended, you decided to confront him.
"Captain Narumi, did I do something wrong?" you asked. "I'm only asking because you've been staring at me with an annoyed look ever since yesterday's lunch."
"No. I was just... evaluating you. Yeah, evaluating."
"Really? Because it definitely didn't feel that way. It feels more like I did something that really pissed you off."
"I'm just having a bad day."
"Okay, but Vice Captain Hasegawa told me something yesterday, and honestly, it was quite a surprise. Though I can't be sure unless I hear it from you."
You weren't sure where the sudden boldness came from. Maybe it was your curiosity getting the better of you.
A look of panic flashed across his face before he quickly composed himself.
"What nonsense did he tell you?"
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."
"No, I don't!" he huffed, pouting.
"Deny it all you want, but I know exactly why you've been looking at me like that."
He let out an annoyed sigh.
"Okay, fine. I hate it when you spend so much time talking to Tachibana."
You noticed a faint pink tint creeping across his cheeks, which only made you want to tease him further.
"And why do you hate that?"
"Because I like you, dummy," he blurted out, his nervousness painfully obvious.
You grinned.
"Yeah, that's what I wanted to hear. Was it really that hard to say?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Where did all this confidence suddenly come from?"
"Where else would it come from if not from the cockiest captain I know?"
﹙ 💭 ﹚reno ichikawa x f!reader ⸝⸝ yearning, flirting and puppy love?? reno is a dedicated man 🤷♀️ (potentially ooc, not proofread)
forewarning ─── reader is lowkey cold bcs she has problems w showing emotions, and she's also a little in denial of someone actually falling for her. mentions towards the death of a family member. be warned, reckless and suicidal tendencies in the reader’s behavior. for the sake of the story, reader is described as athletic/built. btw im lowk inexperienced when writing yearning ;( also i was listening to “my way of life” by frank sinatra while writing this, highly recommend u do that too (honestly this is so old, i finished it months ago and just found it again, thinking of a part 2 tho)
disclaimer ─── this fanfic is for entertainment purposes only. the use of this text for ai model training, data mining, commercial purposes or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without my (the author's) explicit consent. translating or reposting to other platforms is also strictly forbidden without my permission.
You weren’t scared.
How could you be, when Kaijus have become a common sight for you? Not because you were a JAKDF officer, not yet, but because you learned to analyze and move instead of staying stuck with one problem.
Many people thought that ignoring a botheration would make it disappear. That the less you acknowledged it, the more it would cower into nothingness.
You learned very early on that it was never that easy. So, you trained. Because lying in wait wouldn’t bring back your sister from her grave. But neither would fighting, you knew.
The closer you got to death, the closer you got to her.
That’s why you threw yourself into battle, eyes focused front with your heart pounding in your chest.
The suit fit like a second skin, your finger resting on the trigger of the gun. It was an unfamiliar weight that you welcomed, even if this was just an exam and your acceptance into the force wasn’t confirmed. You would keep trying until you couldn’t.
Couldn’t stand, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live.
Reno Ichikawa, on the other hand, was dumbfounded. He couldn’t understand your disregard for your own safety. That confusion sprouted from you jumping into the mouth of Kaiju after pushing him out of the way.
He stood to close, still nervous in the first moments of the exam, eyes darting left and right with hand shaking.
A shadow threw over his figure, the sunlight outlining a Yoju. Then, a push. A call. “Move!”
His back met the floor, and the last thing he saw was you, one of your feet slotted between the teeth and muscle of the creature as you pushed yourself forward.
Its mouth closed around you. A deafening silence surrounded the area, the smell of fresh blood and steel still occupying every corner you walked. All of a sudden, a voice. Muffled, but loud enough to be heard from inside the Yoju. Unleashed power: 40%
A ringing filled the quiet, organs flying like a wave. It rained purple, the iron smell of the flesh becoming clear and nauseating.
You stood, unbound and unaffected by what you had just done, weapon strapped to you and the thin pin of a grenade stuck between two of your fingers.
In that moment, he had believed you were born to fight. Born to protect. And so much further than him.
Your head turned to the side, eyes not betraying your appearance. Sharp and calculating. “Keep moving, Ichikawa. There’s no use for people who freeze.”
It was harsh, but true. He couldn’t afford to fail this and lose his opportunity.
When he found out you were accepted, something in him was proud.
It didn’t surprise him that you were, with the stunt that you pulled off and survived. But what he did notice was you pulling away.
Straying away from crowds, avoiding conversations and training alone. You were closed off, never entering the space of another and never letting someone do the same to you.
He took it as his chance to approach you.
Your chest heaved, sweat dripping down the side of your face as you stopped in your tracks, taking the moment to breathe.
Your palms settled on your knees, spine arched in as your sight began to blur. From exhaustion or the sweat dropping into your eyes, you couldn’t tell. You always pushed too far when your head was too loud.
“Here,” a shadow fell over you from your left, a water bottle entering your vision as you felt your throat dry.
Your hands clenched, eyebrows furrowing as you tilted your head up, (e/c) hues meeting a soft purple-lavender wrapped in sunlight. The boy you pushed, you remember. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.”
Pushing yourself to stand straight again you accepted the bottle, twisting the cap open and taking multiple gulps. He took the soundless space as his shot to speak. “I wanted to thank you for saving me back then.”
You only hummed in response, glancing at him as you drank. Wiping the dampness from your forehead you scanned him from head to toe, studying him. Awkward silence wove between you, your heavy breaths becoming a quieting sensation.
“Um,” he sweat-dropped, “I know it’s not my place to ask, but why do you never hang out with the other girls or generally anyone?”
You paused at his question. If I get close again, they’ll die, you wanted to say. I carry so much bad luck with me. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. “It’s not your place to ask.” Had you always been so mean?
Of course not. When Emiko was alive, you made sure to share whatever you had with her. A flower crown, your lunch, a camera. She tethered you to this world until fate decided you’ve become too dependent.
He gulped, nodding hastily. “Of course. I just think none of us are necessarily bad, if that’s what you’re scared of. I’m sure Kafka and and Kikoru wouldn’t mind if you joined us for dinner at a ramen shop tonight? Only if you want to though!”
Your eyes didn’t stray from his own, the water he offered now resting lazily in your hold, reminding you of the situation. He was trying. Out of all the other in-training-officers, he was the only one to attempt and become closer with you.
What if you hadn’t saved him? He would’ve failed the exam. He could’ve died. But you didn’t let that happen. Even if you hadn’t, would he still have approached you like he did now?
Emiko would’ve liked him.
“Fine,” you broke your thoughts with verbal response, screwing the drink shut and brushing past him. “But I don’t plan to stay for long.”
You didn’t linger long enough to hear his answer, continuing your jog.
Showering beforehand, you threw on casual clothes, baggy jeans and a shirt, before stepping out of your dorm, coming face-to-face with Kikoru Shinomiya.
Awkward silence followed. Again.
You were well aware of her heritage and skill, far above any trainee. By calculation, you’re certain she would leave her mark on the world. You didn’t bother to understand what you appeared like in the eyes of others, but you knew too you weren’t far behind her.
“You finally look normal for once,” you tilted your head at her words, pocketing your phone and wallet. “Normal?”
“Yeah,” she hummed, beginning to walk after you closed your door. “You always just look tense in that suit. If you weren’t as talented as you are, I would’ve told you straight up that it isn’t made for you.”
The rumors do her justice then. Bold and straightforward, confident in her skill, but even she sometimes pushes her limits too far.
“So, was that an insult or?” Your words trailed off, walking side by side with her. “Back-handed compliment.”
You recognized it. The layer of protection that she coated over herself like a silk cloak that bore her name, the refusal to let others see that she cares deeply. It felt like looking in a mirror.
Dinner felt loose with the three of them. Not the kind that had you hanging on for more, but the kind that had you realize the moment you’re in. Sitting bathed in the gentle orange hue of the ceiling lamps, laughter soft with the air light, yet full of conversations that seemed endless.
You found yourself smiling again, glancing down at your bowl of ramen with something akin to reminiscence. This is what authors wrote about when hearing friendship, the moment people thought about when meeting their friends, the memories elders look back at when storytelling.
There was a nudge at your right side, soft and reminding, but not with force. Reno’s eyes met your own before they fell onto your lips, “Are you alright?”
Your ears drowned out Kafka and Kikoru as they argued, may that have been about battle strategy or personal vendettas they had grown for another, your focus shifted.
It was a simple question, not intruding or trying to make sense of your emotion with knowledge. Simply asking. And your eyes softened. “Never better.”
From then on, Reno’s presence seemed to haunt your own, a quiet shadow that became light in your routines. You would encounter him in the halls, training area and outside the building. Though your meetings were always inevitable.
He never intruded, never came to close and never forced words out of you, he simply stayed in the silence you excused as acquaintance.
You learned his shape and he learned your silence. You read his body language, calculating his thoughts while he waited for your words, observing you. He became a constant.
You shared hollow pants in a room full of gear, you advising and guiding him to find his own fighting style. When you suggested he changed his bullets to a different material, a crystal blue of ice, he mocked you with a grin. “I thought there was no use for people who freeze.”
“Dangerous game you’re playing.” You retorted.
“Then stop losing.”
You stood up from where you sat on the floor, feet padding lightly as you made your way to stand and stop in front of him, your breath mixing with his. His eyes were still annoyingly beautiful, unwavering. “I don’t lose.”
He smiled, the corners of his mouth crinkling slightly, “I know.”
“then I’ll just have to make them more obvious from now on, Captain Narumi.” —ft. Narumi Gen
Continuation of "I Like.. captain Narumi?"
Prompt: After overusing Kaiju Weapon No. 6 for the sake of Gen Narumi, your emotional capabilities became impaired. Yet somehow, despite feeling detached from almost everything else, your feelings for Narumi only became stronger. Basically this is you declaring war your love
Tags: Gen Narumi x Reader, OC, Obsessive Reader, Numbers Weapon No. 6, Emotionally Impaired Reader, Awkward Narumi, Mutual Weirdness, Major OOC, Canon Divergence, Not Canonically Accurate.
Two whole months had passed since the incident.
Since the moment you pushed Suit No. 6 beyond its operational limit.
The Defense Force labeled it as “over-synchronization.”
The researchers called it a miracle.
Your body called it survival.
Very little of your original genetic structure remained now. The repeated exposure to Numbers Weapon 6 had rewritten your body on a cellular level, adapting you into something capable of enduring the overwhelming fortitude of the weapon.
Or perhaps something closer to the weapon itself.
Your hair, once carrying traces of color, had turned completely white—silk like and unnaturally pale, almost translucent beneath the light. Your body temperature remained lower than average. Your pulse slower. Your pain response dulled.
You had already returned to active duty a month ago, resuming your position as Vice Captain of the First Division as if nothing had happened. Missions continued. Kaiju continued appearing. The Defense Force continued throwing you into extermination zones.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
…Mostly.
Because for some reason—
Gen Narumi looked brighter these days.
It annoyed you a little.
Not because of him.
But because of yourself.
You had already acknowledged your feelings months ago. Maybe that desperation during the operation had been fueled by it. Maybe that was why Suit No. 6 responded so violently to your synchronization rate.
Still—
your emotions were never this excessive before.
Especially after the incident.
“The subject displays severe irregularities in emotional processing”
That had been the exact wording in your psychological evaluation.
Most things barely stirred anything inside you anymore. Fear felt distant. Sympathy came delayed. Excitement dulled before it could fully bloom.
But Narumi?
That was different.
Your attention instinctively followed him everywhere now. Every movement. Every expression. Every slight shift in tone. Your brain latched onto him with an intensity that honestly bordered on concerning.
Obsession, maybe.
“Oi. Snap out of it.”
Narumi’s voice cut cleanly through your thoughts.
You blinked once before finally focusing on the battlefield ahead.
A massive honju stood at the center of the ruined district, its hardened hide pulsating grotesquely as dozens of yoju continued pouring out around it like an endless swarm. Their readings were fluctuating wildly on the tactical feed, likely due to some kind of hive-type command signal.
Annoying.
Extremely annoying.
“Right,” you answered lazily.
Your katana rested beside you as you watched Narumi continue issuing commands through the comms network.
You tried focusing.
Really.
But your eyes kept drifting back toward your captain instead.
The way his retina interface glowed faintly beneath his visor.
The absurd amount of pressure leaking from him despite standing completely relaxed.
"Do you have something to say, or what?" He asked flatly
"Hm? Do I look like I have something to say?"
Narumi clicked his tongue before turning his gaze back toward the honju.
“Quit acting weird during combat.”
“You say that like I’m not always weird.”
"Hah! you said that with your own mouth, not mine"
A distorted screech suddenly erupted across the battlefield.
The honju’s body split open vertically, revealing a cluster of glowing cores buried beneath layers of flesh-like armor. In response, the surrounding yoju immediately became more aggressive, their movements accelerating all at once.
The tactical HUD flashed red.
IDENTIFIED FORTITUDE LEVEL RISING.
“Hm. This got ugly fast,” you muttered.
Beside you, Narumi clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“That’s because you kept yapping.”
Before you could even answer, he already leapt off the ruined overpass, combat suit activating briefly behind him as he descended straight toward the honju’s location.
You watched him disappear into the swarm below before exhaling lightly.
“Show off.”
The comms channel crackled.
“Vice Captain, maintain Sector 3 defense line! Prevent any yoju from breaching civilian evacuation routes!”
You rolled your shoulder once before turning toward the western sector where multiple readings were rapidly approaching.
Honestly, you should’ve been sent alongside Narumi by now.
Your synchronization rate with Suit No. 6 made you the most compatible support unit for him during large-scale exterminations. That was basic tactical judgment.
Shouldn’t Kurusu reassign me to Narumi’s side already?
Another screech erupted nearby.
Your eyes shifted lazily toward a terrified officer frozen in place as a yoju lunged straight toward him, maw wide open.
Your scythe glinted coldly.
One swing.
That was all it took.
The blade tore through the yoju’s body with overwhelming force, splitting the creature apart before it could even reach the officer. Blackened kaiju blood splattered violently across the pavement.
And almost onto the officer too.
The man stumbled backward, visibly pale beneath his visor.
“V-Vice Captain…!”
You barely looked at him.
Normally, you would’ve adjusted the angle.
Maintained distance. Calculated collateral risk down to the centimeter.
The old you hated endangering allies with wide range attacks.
But now?
You honestly barely cared.
Not because you wanted them hurt.
You just… couldn’t feel the same urgency about it anymore.
That instinctive human hesitation had dulled somewhere along the way.
Another yoju rushed you from behind.
Without even turning fully, you dragged the end of your scythe across the ground before sharply pulling upward—
A crescent shaped shockwave exploded through the street.
“Vice Captain, your attack range is exceeding predicted calculations—” Hasegawa began,
“I know.”
You stared quietly at the frozen remains littering Sector 3, watching shattered yoju collapse into glittering frost beneath the emergency lights.
This didn’t feel like you anymore.
It was like your sense of self had been scraped hollow somewhere during that operation two months ago.
Like Suit No. 6 had taken something from you when you forced synchronization beyond the safe limit.
And in exchange—
it left something else behind.
Am I really having an identity crisis right now?
You exhaled slowly before pressing a hand against your earpiece.
“Sector 3 is cleared.”
Static crackled briefly.
Then Kurusu’s voice came through the comms network.
“Noted. Vice Captain, switch to support. Captain Narumi is currently positioned at your three o’clock. Multiple yoju are obstructing his advance route.”
Then—
your lips curved upward.
One of the nearby officers visibly stiffened after noticing it.
Because that expression had become rare lately.
Most days, your face remained unreadable no matter what happened around you. Victory. Injury. Destruction. Casualties.
Nothing seemed to move you anymore.
Except—
Narumi.
“Vice Captain?” Tachibana beside you called cautiously.
You ignored him completely.
The moment Narumi’s location appeared on your tactical display, your body already moved on instinct.
The further you moved toward Narumi’s signal—
the more stable your breathing became.
The more focused your thoughts felt.
How ironic.
A person whose emotional processing had supposedly deteriorated could still feel this much clarity from the existence of one man alone.
An explosion suddenly erupted ahead.
Several officers were sent crashing backward as a massive yoju tore through the street, blocking the direct path toward the honju’s location.
"Vice captain, watch out—!" kikoru screamed.
The creature shrieked violently upon noticing you.
You only stared at it blankly.
“…You’re in the way.”
The yoju lunged.
You vanished first. The creature’s eyes widened just before your scythe carved upward through its entire body in a single motion.
then the yoju split cleanly in half before freezing from the inside out.
You didn’t even slow down afterward.
Debris and frost swirled violently behind you as you continued sprinting toward Narumi’s position.
Your smile widened the moment you spotted him.
Several yoju were currently swarming his position, their screeches overlapping with the constant roar of artillery fire in the distance. Yet Narumi barely looked pressured, casually firing precise shots through the monsters’ cores while dodging incoming attacks with irritating ease.
You landed atop a shattered concrete slab, frost immediately spreading beneath your boots.
“Commencing support,” you announced through comms.
Your scythe responded instantly.
The blade glowed brighter—
Nearby temperature readings on the tactical HUD plummeted sharply upon your arrival.
Narumi glanced upward.
Then immediately grimaced.
“Hah? Who called the ice maniac here?!”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask for backup.”
“You literally had yoju clogging your route.”
“That’s called warming up, idiot"
A massive yoju suddenly burst from beneath the street, attempting to ambush Narumi from behind.
Your eyes narrowed instantly.
Before the creature could even fully emerge—
your scythe swung downward.
“Second Dance: White ripple"
The yoju froze solid mid motion before splitting apart completely, ice erupting from inside its body like crystalline veins.
The shockwave alone forced nearby officers to shield their faces.
Narumi clicked his tongue while smoke drifted around him.
“…You’re overkilling them again.”
"Only because it tried to get close to you"
“That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
Narumi pointed lazily toward an entire frozen intersection behind you.
“You froze half the damn operation zone.”
You looked back briefly.
Ah.
There were several immobilized Defense Force vehicles trapped in ice now.
Narumi swore under his breath the moment he caught your expression.
That blank, entirely unapologetic look that practically screamed,
Not my problem.
Another yoju suddenly lunged toward the squad.
Narumi shot it dead instantly without even looking.
BOOM.
Then—
static burst through the comms network.
“Captain, we need to neutralize the honju immediately!” Kurusu’s voice rang out, strained with panic. “Unidentified energy spikes are being detected from inside the core. Readings are still rising!”
The honju screeched from the center of the ruined district, its massive body convulsing unnaturally as glowing veins spread across its surface. The yoju surrounding it became increasingly erratic, almost frenzied.
Like something was about to hatch.
Narumi’s expression sharpened instantly.
“You heard him,” he said while resting his weapon over his shoulder. “Make me a path.”
Your eyes softened immediately.
And then—
you smiled.
Not the faint amused smirk you usually wore around him.
Not the detached expression everyone had gotten used to after the incident.
A real smile. Almost stupidly happy.
Several nearby officers visibly froze.
“…Oh,” kikoru muttered quietly.
Another slowly lowered his rifle
“…Vice Captain is gone gone.”
“Shut up,” someone whispered back immediately.
You either didn’t hear them—
or simply didn’t care.
“Sure, Captain.”
The response came out far too pleased for a battlefield situation.
Narumi clicked his tongue upon hearing your tone.
“That answer’s creepy.”
“But you like it.”
“…Just clear the damn route.”
Your grip tightened around the scythe.
The moment Narumi stepped forward behind you, Suit No. 6 reacted violently.
Synchronization rate increasing.
88%.
91%.
The freezing pressure erupting from your body became overwhelming enough that nearby officers instinctively retreated several meters. Frost spread rapidly across the ruined streets while black particle like ice drifted around you like ash.
Even the yoju charging toward your position hesitated.
Predators recognizing something worse.
then the world split apart.
CRACK.
The sound alone shook the battlefield.
A massive surge of freezing energy erupted forward in a perfectly straight line, devouring everything ahead of you. Buildings froze solid instantly. Asphalt crystallized. Yoju didn’t even have time to scream before becoming motionless statues trapped beneath layers of white frost.
And then—
they shattered.
One after another.
An entire path carved cleanly through the battlefield.
Straight toward the honju.
“You're also damn showoff, you maniac.” Narumi clicked his tongue, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him completely.
The moment his irises lit with that familiar electric blue glow, everyone on comms already knew what that meant.
Static burst across the battlefield.
Not metaphorically.
Actual arcs of plasma like electricity ripped through the air as Narumi kicked off the fractured asphalt, his combat suit release spiking violently. The shockwave alone sent nearby debris flying.
“Captain Narumi’s combat power output is climbing—!”
You simply stepped forward, and cut down the nearest Yoju before it could even approach his line of fire.
“Don’t fucking ruin the view,” you muttered.
Then Narumi vanished.
The specialized retinal tracking linked to his Numbers Weapon activated at full synchronization, allowing him to perceive the Honju’s core trajectory several seconds ahead. To everyone else, he was gone in a blink.
To you—
you could still follow him.
The sky split apart with a deafening crack.
A spear of condensed electromagnetic fire pierced straight through the Honju’s thorax before detonating from the inside out.
Silence.
Then—
BOOM.
The Honju collapsed inward, its massive body folding into itself as the core was annihilated in a single shot. Flesh ruptured apart in waves while residual energy crackled through the air like dying thunder.
You stood there silently, watching the remains burn.
Your pulse hadn’t slowed since he moved.
Honestly…
it was kind of pretty.
Narumi descended atop the Honju’s corpse, boots crunching against cooling armor plates. His bayonet rested lazily over his shoulder, electricity still flickering faintly along the blade from the aftermath of his attack.
Even after using that much output, the idiot looked completely fine.
His glowing eyes landed on you immediately.
“What’s with that look, you maniac?” he asked, brow lifting.
“Confirmed—Honju neutralized.”
“Area secured!”
The comms buzzed with relief, but it all sounded distant to you.
Because Narumi was still staring.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“…Oi.”
“I’ve been noticing it since earlier,” he said, shifting the bayonet onto his shoulder.
“What’s with that lovestruck look? What, ya like me or something?”
Narumi clearly expected you to scoff, dodge the question, or say something unhinged just to annoy him.
Instead—
you hummed thoughtfully.
“Maybe.”
Your grin widened beneath the drifting ash.
And for the first time since the operation started, Narumi completely froze.
“…Hah?”
The captain of the First Division — the man who could track a Honju’s kill point in milliseconds and fire without missing once — stared at you like his brain had short-circuited.
“You—”
Nothing came out.
The mighty Gen Narumi — humanity’s strongest anti-kaiju combatant — had just suffered a complete system failure from a single word.
Around you, the battlefield had already shifted into post neutralization procedure. Rescue teams moved through the destroyed sectors while cleanup units secured the remaining Yoju corpses. Officers celebrated over comms, too distracted by survival and victory to pay attention to the two strongest people in the division having whatever this was.
You walked toward him slowly.
Narumi stayed rooted in place.
And Narumi swore he could hear something pounding violently inside his chest.
Which was ridiculous.
He’d fought Daikaiju level threats.
Stared down death more times than he could count.
Used Numbers Weapons output high enough to destroy his own body if he lost control.
But somehow this felt worse.
No— not worse.
Different.
His sharp gaze locked onto yours, searching for even the slightest hint that you were joking.
He found none.
And that was the problem.
Narumi wasn’t stupid.
People liked calling him reckless, arrogant, battle crazy—
dense, sometimes.
But this?
This was painfully obvious.
The way your eyes followed him across battlefields.
The way you always positioned yourself where you could cover his blind spots before he even noticed danger.
You noticed the slight tremor in his gaze and smiled faintly.
“Since you still seem to doubt my feelings,” you said, taking another step closer, “then I’ll just have to make them more obvious from now on, Captain Narumi.”
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
And that—
that lowkey terrified him.
“…Are you threatening me right now?”
You blinked innocently.
“Eh? Of course not, my dear captain.”
Your smile only deepened.
“Think of it as… an official advance notice.”
Narumi immediately clicked his tongue and took half a step back like instinct alone told him danger was approaching.
Which was insane.
Because this was you.
His Vice Captain.
Yet somehow, hearing you calmly declare war on his peace of mind made his heartbeat go completely erratic.
“Look forward to it then, Captain,” you said softly.
And for perhaps the first time in history—
the man who always had something to complain about fell completely silent.
Answering some Initial Questions from our Interest Check (pt1):
Will Kn8 OCs be included?
Yes! OCs, self-inserts, fankids, crossovers, etc. are all A-OK. As long as the fanwork itself focuses on a canon woman from Kaiju No. 8, feel free to add anyone else to the work.
For example, a KN8 oc alone wouldn't fit the category, but a KN8 oc having lunch with Mina Ashiro or training alongside Kikoru Shinomiya would be perfect!
What’re the expected word counts for fics and analyses?
No minimum and no maximum! Let your heart lead you! (WIPs also accepted)
----
ASKS/DMS OPEN for those of you who have more questions or need any clarification!
